


Die Tonight; Rule Tomorrow

by AlphaEN



Category: Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 20:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6673603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaEN/pseuds/AlphaEN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Put Me First (now only available on my site alphfang.wordpress.com). Expect change in format; while still in dual POV, the events will be told only once from the pov that suits best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Die Tonight; Rule Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Sorry, but Put Me First was deleted from here and is available only on my blog alphafang.wordpress.com. I posted here the beginning of the sequel to PMF Die Tonight; Rule Tomorrow as a test. The story with art work and music is also up on my main site. Currently, I'm working on Ch 26, to be posted in a few days. If you want to read up on the prequel or don't want to wait for DTRT to be updated here, feel free to pop in and read&review. There are only two-three chapters left to wrap up DTRT. Any feedback is greatly appreciated.

SPOV

I slept through most of the flight. Captain Clayton’s first informal lesson had almost erased my absurd fear of the takeoffs, and Eric’s presence comforted me, so much so I hadn’t noticed how my head ended up on his chest and his arm wrapped around me.

The plane wasn’t as luxurious as the one Eric had chartered for our date, but I had no complaints. For one, it was commercial and, therefore, much larger, intended for twenty four passengers, as I’d overhead one of the pilots (I’d also gathered the engines were good and the bird was ready to go/fly – wasn’t that a balm on my strained nerves?) Besides, this was definitely first class for supes and their humans – wide cushy armchairs with plenty of space to recline and stretch my legs, light-tight salon and a secure section for coffins, appropriate refreshments (a variety of synthetic and mixed blood) and some decent Life Support, quiet atmosphere, and very courteous flight attendants.

We had taken one of the two so-called double seats – if you pushed the armrests in the middle up into the slot between the backrests, you’d end up with a nice couch. Of course, it wasn’t wide enough to fit Eric, but it was just the right size for me.

My slumber was short and restless. I awoke when we stopped in Dallas and a few vampires came on board of Anubis Air. We headed to Las Vegas after refueling, and once in the air again, I snuggled back into my husband and closed my eyes, determined to make up for the sleep I’d inevitably miss during nights to come.

“Hungry?” Eric murmured into my hair.

I managed to shake my head, effectively nuzzling into him. We were in the back of the salon, and no one was really watching us. With his left, he pulled a blanket up over me and then returned his hand to rest around my shoulder. He had his laptop open in front of him on a small folding table. I didn’t pry.

“You work, I’ll sleep,” I mumbled.

. . .

“Sookie, we’re getting close,” Eric was running his hand along my upper arm, pulling me out of my gray dreams.

I couldn’t stifle a huge yawn. “How much longer?”

He arched an eyebrow, as I sat up straight and pushed the blanket aside. “You tell me.”

Sleepy head! I dipped into the crew members’ concentrated minds.

Shit. “Not much. I better hurry.”

I grabbed my carryon and went to the restroom.

“Gah!” My hair looked like a hay stack. I ran a brush through the tangles and made a loose braid – not my favorite, but pulling my hair up in a tight ponytail would be just one tiny notch up on the scale of the headache I was expecting to take up residence inside my skull in few hours.

I’d been in time saving mode while preparing for the trip, and I’d completely neglected putting on makeup. Now I was doubly glad for the total lack of powder and lipstick on my face, because I was in no mood for the after-sleep beautification process. I was uncomfortable. I had cramps. My boobies hurt. Fairy-human hormones vs vampire blood in my system – and the fairy was winning. Women who aren’t meant to have children should be spared the monthly pain, I thought with irritation. I downed the maximum allowed dose of Advil, took care of my human and feminine needs and returned into my seat.

As the plane began its descend, the mental jumble of people on the ground grew louder. I tried not to concentrate on anything in particular and instead let the currents of thoughts flow sort of past me. I wasn’t shielding, because I wanted to desensitize myself a little and build whatever tolerance I could before we got to the hotel.

The royal office had sent a town car to pick us up from the airport, and pretty soon we entered the city limits.

According to the forecast I’d read during my research on the Internet, this weekend was going to be hot – over 100 degrees during the day with a drop to low 90’s at night. No wonder – Las Vegas is situated in the desert, surrounded by dry mountains. With population over one million, the city’s busiest part – the strip – was the very heart of the gambling industry. You’d think I had nothing better to do but to look up the demographics and other statistics, but how else would I know what I was going to deal with? If on average 39 million visited the gaming capitol every year, it would roughly translate into over one hundred thousand people every day, thus giving me just that many reasons to expect my telepathic zone to be as densely packed with humans as I’d ever encountered before. An ocean of minds would surround me for three days and nights, even if the radius of my coverage was a little over one mile. On the other hand, I hoped a relatively large number of voids in the hotel would help thin out the noisy broadcasts.

The clamor inside my head was getting louder, and it was becoming harder not to listen just because I was trying real hard not to. I needed a distraction.

“Have you been here before?” I asked Eric.

“No. California, mostly.”

The beaches. “The same time you visited Florida?”

He nodded, and a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

I leaned closer and whispered into his ear, “Washed your feet in the Pacific Ocean? What was the occasion?”

“Curious, aren’t you?” He waggled his eyebrows at me, and I blew a giggle.

“Worried to make a dent in your mysterious image, Viking?”

He chuckled. “Not nearly. Your impressionable mind is what I’m mostly concerned with.”

“How very sweet of you.”

“Not really.”

“You’re right. More like condescending.”

He smirked. “You know me so well, my lover.”

Maybe, we were married and all, but somehow, the flirting and the back-and-forth silly ranting and picking on each other hadn’t ceased. Not everything was going to change between us, I realized with a strange relief. Not everything had to change.

“I do,” I replied. “Better every night. I feel like Shahryãr in One Thousand and One Nights.”

Eric looked at me, with sapphire blue burning deep, telling me without words that there would be much more than one thousand nights for us. Just that single penetrating look, and I was already much calmer.

Although life in Vegas ran 24/7, it was really a heaven for night owls. The illuminations, the parties, the shows, the game – everything acquired different meaning once the darkness spread its wings. Vivid and vibrant, loud and energetic, the Sin City greeted us with its beacons of hotel and casino lights. The car slowed down across the street from Bellagio in front of Hacienda – a complex with tall, modern building spiking high behind a wall of columns that formed arches of different width and height.

“This lot used to be Paris Las Vegas hotel and casino,” Eric commented quietly, as the driver turned into a designated vehicle entry under one of the archeways. “Felipe took over within a month after the Great Reveal.”

“Impressive.” And it truly was. The rendition of the Mediterranean style infused with Islamic elements looked amazing. The arches were large, high and inviting, creating an iconic grand vibe. This illusory barrier made whatever lied behind it unexpectedly alluring and taunting. I’d visited the website, taken the visual tours and read whatever I could about Hacienda; I’d found its architectural style to be rather tasteful, but, frankly, the king’s crown jewel was much more beautiful and striking in real life. This meant one thing: I’d been unconsciously underestimating Felipe – a mistake that could cost both Eric and me dearly.

“What do you call these details?” I pointed up at a see-through section running above the semicircles of the arches.

“Filigree,” Eric replied.

“It’s such a delicate work. Like lace.”

“This one is very similar to Moorish ornamentation,” he explained. “Somewhere between the ninth and the fifteen centuries Spain was trying to recapture Moorish-held territories. It was a political as well as a religious struggle, because Islam and Christianity were considered rivals. Ferdinand and Isabella used a single faith to help unify their lands, but inevitably the mutual influence manifested through science, art, and architecture. Felipe was born as human in those turbulent times.”

I quickly did the math. At the end of the fifteen century Eric was about five hundred, and Felipe two-three hundred years old, or dead, as vampires always said. Apparently, senior vampires tended to remember their human heritage, although they didn’t speak of it; otherwise, why would de Castro choose this particular theme? Did it remind him of his younger vampire years, too? I didn’t know much about the king; his profile wasn’t part of the Vampire Directory. In addition to what Eric had shared, all I could recall was my conversation with Sam after the takeover. De Castro had a publishing empire, at least one casino, and several restaurants. He was the head of a group that oversaw all vampire entertainment in Nevada. I wondered if E(E)E was also one of the official pies he had his fingers in. On a more shady side of his activities were pits, shark loans, money laundering, and some other dealings Eric hadn’t elaborated on. Sam had also thought that being such a great businessman and having figured out what made tourists tick would automatically make Felipe the right vampire to rule and rebuilt New Orleans. I was sad to admit our own jewel of Louisiana hadn’t benefited a smidgen from the change of undead powers. If anything, things were going downhill, especially for Arkansas.

We drove past fountains in the center that were flaring up and down in a well-orchestrated show accompanied by soft guitar music. Bellagio couldn’t compare. I thought about the amount of water it took to maintain this astounding monstrosity – right in the middle of the desert.

The main hotel and casino were located on the left, in a tall, modern with soft lines and balconies on the top floors building; the villas occupied the center; and the right eight-story wide wing was designated exclusively for blood-drinking guests and their breathing-bleeding companions. Our luggage was quickly pulled on a cart by a pair of porters in dark brown with gold uniforms and ,despite the sticky heat of the night, yellow leather gloves. It wasn’t a style that called for the sheathed hands, but the necessity to keep their smell and sweat off vampires’ belongings. We were checked in with an amazing speed, while one of the porters rolled the cart into an elevator and held the doors ajar for us. The personnel here knew not to waste a moment of the night, especially during summer – something any vampire could appreciate immediately.

If only de Castro ran his newly acquired territories as tightly.

It was past 3 a.m., and we needed to present ourselves in person to the proper authorities, according to the protocol. In my pre-trip frenzy, I’d even looked up the sunset and sunrise times in Las Vegas for the weekend, so I knew down to a minute how much we had left before Eric had to retire for the day.

While I hopped into the shower to quickly freshen up, he opened the suitcases and pulled clothes for us. I was still dressing when he emerged from the bathroom after taking his turn under the stream of hot water, glowing and naked. His world-class butt, however, reminded me there could be cameras in the room. Great! And I was parading my girls for some security staff to check me out. Ugh!

“We have less than two hours before the dawn,” I dropped, peeved.

“More than enough for tonight’s business,” he said, putting on dark pants and a dress shirt.

We weren’t supposed to meet de Castro upon our arrival. Knowing that the noticeably dark circles under my eyes wouldn’t be scrutinized by his Royal Highness helped me focus on scooping and sorting thoughts and mental signatures. I had already detected a specific high of the gambling thrill, ranging from mild curiosity of a next move/card/dice roll to a blazing anger of a loss or (less often) an overwhelming rush of a win. I’d tried to erect an extra shield to muffle that distinct kind of transmissions. The effort to brace the new layer of protection was conscious, almost completely preoccupying me, but I had Eric by my side to more than compensate for my slacking attention.

On our way up to the royal offices on the fifth floor, I kept listening whoever was closer to me within the building. Inside my head some strange processes were occurring, but I just couldn’t add that worry to the mix. Instead, I went with the plan, pretending to be engrossed into a conversation with Eric: every so often, I repeated “Oh, really?” and automatically nodded as he was telling me trivia about games and players. This had been his idea to let me listen and maintain our cover at the same time. Felipe’s people might suspect I was reading as many of them as I could, but I sure as hell didn’t want to look the part, sporting the obvious absent expression on my face I get whenever I am in the receiving mode.

The fifth and sixth floors were occupied by different offices, and the top two were de Castro’s personal and working quarters. We proceeded down a quiet hallway, the dark carpet smothering the sounds of our footsteps, my arm thought Eric’s. I snapped out of the mental dimension and regrouped as soon as we stood in front of a wide reception counter to the left from the elevators. Dillon S. logged us in, all the while demonstrating a generic and polite smile of a man who didn’t care who we were as long as we did what we were supposed to do in the manner prescribed by the rules. I zoomed in on him, blocking everyone else out. His military background had instilled in him the importance of discipline and obedience to the higher ups, and he appreciated those qualities in others above all. I almost snorted. Mr. S. was an obvious case of loyalty gorged on glamour, and I could easily see the ragged cracks in his overall demeanor, caused by contradictions between his own beliefs and the forced rules.

Still, the man worked fast and effectively. He took Eric’s electronic key-card, and I followed his thoughts as he assigned level V3 security clearance to Sheriff Norhtman. When he looked up my records, his surprise and respect immediately surged. I was the first human to be given V4 clearance instead of usual H1 or H2 – ever.

I had no time to ponder what that last bit meant.

“Sheriff Norhtman, Ms. Stackhouse, thank you,” he said, returning the cards. “All set. Tomorrow at the briefing you will be informed of the zones you have access to, using these key-cards.”

“It’s actually Mrs. Northman,” I corrected him and stunned Eric at the same time.

“Oh, excuse me, the records didn’t show that,” Dillon S. glanced back at the screen and began typing. Eric’s cool fingers laced through mine, and I gave him a tiny squeeze, responding to the flood of astonishment and pride coming from him. I don’t know why I said it; I just needed it to be plain and simple for everyone around here – I was with Eric, I was Eric’s, even if Louisiana wouldn’t issue a proper document certifying our marital status.

“Will you be able to change that in the system?” the Viking asked, and I felt his sudden giddy anticipation.

“Ahmm,” the administrator slowly shook his head, still reading something off the screen, “I’m afraid not. The last name Stackhouse has been entered in the schedule, the docket files and interview documents. There is no time to revise and reprint any of that at this point. But I’ll make notes to correct the error before the coronation.” He looked up at me, “Except for the invitation, which you already received.”

I beamed at the middle-aged man who served vampires because of his family (braces and private schools). His daughters had his true loyalty. I understood Eric’s reservation against glamouring those who worked directly for him that much better.

“That is acceptable,” Eric relented. As if we had a choice. “Change everything to Sookie Stackhouse Northman.”

God… this man, he just got me. Thoroughly.

“I’ll put the notification through tonight,” the administrator assured us.

“Thank you, Mr. S,” I said.

“You are very welcome, Mrs. Northman, and I apologize for the inconvenience.”

I smiled, hearing my new name spoken by another person for the first time. It sounded… different.

“I could really use that drink now,” I said to Eric.

“Of course, dear one.”

“Would you point us in the right direction?” I asked the administrator.

Mr. S. explained where the traditional bar was, and if we were looking for some place more tranquil, he recommended the Lounge Den on the ground floor.

Thanks to the virtual tours, I already knew where both were. But I was getting into a role, and every tiny detail added yet another believable aspect to the image of a common vampire-human bonded couple Eric and I had agreed to play. It was time to walk the walk from one side of the building to the other.

The moment I turned my back to the very helpful Dillon S., I lowered the shields, bracing only the new filtering wrap to try and block the playing masses. I stopped noticing how my feet carried me forward, how the elevator took us down, how my head automatically bobbed in agreement when Eric asked me some nonsense.

I was in a huge bubble of endless images and thoughts of others. Once I overcame the momentary panic of drowning, I began scanning the transmissions coming obviously from the above – the royal quarters and offices. Felipe was there, as human brains were on a slightly nervous alert, flushed with the snippets of him surrounded by other vampires – a large flock of voids somewhere above where Mr. S.’ station was located. Snarly red of different shades was also present, and another strong current of linear two-natured thoughts was coming from the direction we were slowly moving in. This latter group was the part of the security staff that monitored the entire vampire wing through… hmm… screens… numerous screens… Oh! Eric and I passing in the hallway!

Call me selfish, I wanted to know if they were able to watch or hear us in our suite. I really hoped for a miracle, because spending the weekend under a constant surveillance would break me. I’d need a place to relax and drop the act, sure of my privacy. Already a ring of pain was closing down around my head. Advil was wearing off.

However, I ignored my growing discomfort – I was onto something.

I barely registered how we made it to the Lounge Den.

“This way,” Eric guided me to an empty corner. He sat down on a chaise and padded the spot next to him. I bent my knees and let my body plop down. A waitress came up and said something; her lips were moving, but I heard her other voice instead: tired, sluggish, feethurtwannagohome… I made an extra effort and tuned her out, while the Viking ordered my usual and a True Blood for himself.

There were no other humans but her and only a few vamps in the bar aside from us, and, as expected, the closeness of the vapid voids helped me concentrate on the security personnel again. Most of them were were-animals, but I was unable to discern what kind. I didn’t scoop; I just targeted the collective source and opened my mental gates wide. It was easier than expected, because they were all focused on their jobs: observing, noting, checking.

When my glass had been emptied and Eric’s bottle of True blood had been lifted and pressed to his lips a good dozen times, I decided I’d earned a break. The Lounge Den was a cozy space, filled with inviting chaises (perfect for a vampire to literally sit back and enjoy a live snack), low tiny tables, and cushy armchairs. Potted greenery added a dash of hominess, and I let myself relax a little. I wanted badly to stretch my arms to work out the kinks in my tense shoulders.

“How was your drink?” Eric asked, and the bond gave a pulse of worry and curiosity.

If I were the spy, he was the perfect handler.

“A bit rough for my taste, but the ingredients were quite distinguishable.”

He nodded, reading between the lines.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a movement: two vampires to my right turned to us, and one of them held my gaze for a second, then glanced at Eric and inclined his head. It appeared they wanted to approach our table, and the Viking acceded a bit unenthusiastically, but his face didn’t show any annoyance. I quickly composed my features and straightened my back.

They stood up slowly – I was sure, for my benefit – and I had enough time to take a good look at the both as they closed the distance between us. The first guy was tall and very skinny, and a short-sleeved light blue shirt did nothing to hide the sharp angles and bony lines of his upper body. He had a prominent nose, black hair, and very cold dark eyes. His shorter and fuller companion could be written off as a goofball. I’d never seen a vampire with cheeks round like an apple and an expressive mouth you’d expect to curve up in a wide bright smile at any moment. Of course, you’d never expect the owner of that very smile to flash you with two lethal fangs along the way. My pulse didn’t pick up, though; I’ had crossed the threshold when appearance could fool me like nobody’s business a very long time ago.

“Lee Moe,” said the skinny one, “Area One of Arkansas.”

“Richard Boelsen, Area Three,” the other said.

“Eric Northman, Area Five of Louisiana,” Eric replied, rising to his feet.

This was an official moment, I felt. I didn’t know if I should stand up next to Eric or what.

“Please, sit,” the Viking waited for a few moments as Sheriff Boelsen pulled an extra chair for himself and then folded back onto the chaise.

“This is Sookie Stackhouse Northman, my bonded and pledged,” Eric introduced me, and a tiny thrill zipped through the bond. He wasn’t in a habit of showing me off, but he was enjoying saying the words. Proud.

“How do you do, gentlemen,” I said, keeping my hands in my lap and my knees drawn together.

The polite “Good morning, m’am” was all they addressed to me during the few minutes that followed.

“I congratulate the both of you on your appointments. May your lands be in peace and your people prosper,” Eric said.

“Thank you, Northman. The wishes are mutual,” Lee Moe replied.

For a second, I had an urge to ask him if he had anything to do with the disappearance of his predecessor. Yeah, it was a naughty thought, and I was tired. I pretended to be a doorknob and put up a very small smile on my face. There, I’m here, but no one’s home.

“Although rumors have it in your area those are more than just wishes. Your establishment is quite successful, I hear,” Mr. Goofball added.

“Three years in business is usually not enough to establish a steady record, but so far we fare well,” Eric cautiously commented.

The three stooges… er, sheriffs lost me after that. I couldn’t follow the political chat even if my life depended on it. I took the moment and plunged back into the sea of thoughts, hoping to clarify for myself a few discoveries.

It was a bad idea. The painkiller was either too weak by now, or out of my system completely. A pressure headache pounded in my temples, and a sharp pain stabbed me in my gut. I hadn’t had cramps like this since I was a teenager.

“Sookie?” Eric’s voice brought me out of my trance.

“Yes,” I automatically replied and then blinked. Shit, I completely missed out on what he’d just said! The urge to touch my face to check if the smile was still there was overwhelming.

Thankfully, the two intruders were about to leave. “Good day, Mrs. Northman.”

“It was nice meeting you,” I said, stretching my lips to the sides and up. My muscles knew the routine and did the work for me.

Instead of charging the drinks to our room, Eric left cash on the table and led me out of the Lounge Den.

“Have you seen enough for the night?”

“Oh, yeah.” I’d heard tons of things, mostly rubbish, but there were some very important and useful bits and pieces I needed to tell Eric before any of it escaped my memory. Another spasm rippled through my lower abdomen, and I gritted my teeth.

“Sookie?” His voice was low and tense, but he was increasingly worried.

“It’s just a headache.”

“It is not.”

“I’ll sleep it off.”

He didn’t respond to that. His hand slid from the small of my back around my waist, not quite supporting me, but rather keeping me close. One of many things I appreciated about Eric was that he didn’t treat me like I was some damsel in distress. He could let me deal with my issues on my own when I needed to, even if his protective nature was demanding that he take care of his bonded.

We were finally inside, and I kicked my heels off and unzipped and shimmied out of my skirt, stepping out of it and leaving it on the floor as I hurried to the bathroom. I paused to throw my blouse on the armchair in the bedroom and then closed the bathroom door behind me. “Give me a sec!” I said loudly and started the water.

I freed myself from my bra and panties. Despite the protection, fresh red had stained my underwear. I bit my lip, removing the tampon, but once I was done, I felt much better.

Why did it hurt like a motherhubber? Why now? Not the one to favor hospitals, I told myself a full physical was a must once I got back home. With all the changes my body was going through, I’d rather be safe than sorry. The question was if I’d find the right kind of doctor. Maybe, Dr. Ludwig?…

“Are you all right in there?”

“Yeah, just a minute!”

I quickly washed the stains off my panties, wrapped everything that had my blood on it in a cellophane liner I took out of the empty waste basket under the sink, then looked around to make sure everything was clear. “You can come in now.”

Eric opened the door and slowly took a step toward me. His nostrils flared, despite my efforts, but perhaps he’d smell the blood no matter what I did. I was too sore to use another Tampax, and getting with him into the confines of the shower cube like this would be unfair to my vampire. Yet, I really needed the hot water to work the tension out of my achy muscles.

“What is it, my lover?” he asked.

I needed to talk to him, too, though. I sighed. “I’m… you know. Will you be okay with that?” Ms. Eloquent.

I blinked, and I was in the shower with my own Norse warrior to tend to me. I’d never get tired of Eric’s smart fingers gliding, pressing, caressing, kneading…

“I take it there are no cameras here, or have you lost all your inhibitions?”

My little striptease didn’t go unnoticed.

“No cameras, only mics, but they aren’t activated yet.” I turned around and began lazily soaping his chest, running my fingers through the soaked downy curls around his nipples.

His fangs protruded a tip, despite his worry. I expected at least that – a vampire will always be a vampire, but his concern for me was the only emotion he’d let himself feel.

“I’ve got things to tell you.”

By the time I was done, we had finished washing each other and just stood under the hot water. Eric listened intently; his daggers had retracted, but his other part was unable to go back to sleep. I tried not to notice my own need, keeping my mind preoccupied with every detail I’d heard, including names, locations, and numbers. Once I got everything out of my hair, I took a breath. What a relief! The Viking had perfect recall; he’d absorbed the information I’d given him and had stored in that brilliant head of his, whereas I would inevitably forget some part or another. Now I felt as if my mind was unburdened and I could start writing anew again.

“Amazing,” he said, kissing me on the forehead.

I smiled. It was time for more Advil.

I felt warmth pooling in my lower abdomen; a crimson string trickled down my inner thighs, mixing with water, flowing down my legs and swirling into the drain. I couldn’t help it; I shut my legs close and looked down. No one had ever seen me like this, and although Eric loved my blood even as a sign of my womanhood, still, I felt mightily uncomfortable.

“We already had this conversation,” he said quietly. “Shall I repeat that everything about you, in you, is mine and mine alone? That I love it all?”

Old habits die hard; becoming an emancipated femme was a process. I could lie under the sun stark naked granted no one would see me, I could have sex with Eric while on my period (in theory), but in this very moment my bleeding appeared to me as a bodily function. Unclean. Irksome.

Eric held me by my hips and pressed his body against mine.

“I need you, too,” he murmured.

The sundown was close. I’d been listening to thousands of people for hours; now it was time to listen to my own instincts.

“Yes,” I whispered. In just few hours, I had work to do, but I was already worried for him, for his safety. I needed us to reconnect once more before leaving him for the day in this strange hotel room.

He picked me up, and my legs locked around him.

“You smell divine,” he said and kissed me. I reached behind my back to find him, and Eric ducked his head to kiss my breast and latch on a nipple. As he curled into himself a little, I grasped his waiting hardness and guided it to my entrance, wet with water and slick with blood.

“Ughh, Sookie,” he moaned, and his desire filled me to my toes. I molded myself into his chest and began nipping at his neck, as he slowly lowered me onto his penis. A soft thick pressure became a pointed thrust, deliberate and gentle. My insides were so tender I could feel Eric’s every inch rubbing, sliding against my walls. Soothing, oh…

“Mmm, again…” I breathed out.

He slid all the way out, and I squeezed my muscles tight. The same thick pressure at first, and then heaven… heaven of having my bonded inside me, relieving the pain with the coolness of his body. I made a strangled noise.

“Am I hurting you?”

“Oh, no… you feel so good… please, more… Deeper… there, oh, right there!”

Up and down I went, my eyes shut, my face buried into his shoulder. Not a single thought from the outside bothered me; not a single image floated inside my lids. There was only Eric and me. The sensation of weightlessness took over, as he made love to me, and the finale was loud and colorful.

The first round of interviews was scheduled at noon. A wake up call came in at eleven, giving me just enough time to get dressed and order room service. I planted a kiss on my sleeping husband’s lips and padded to the bathroom.

While the bedroom was furnished with light and elegant modern pieces and the interior was done in white, lemon yellow (exactly the color of Layette set Mrs. Fortenberry had gotten for Tara’s twins) and contrasting rich brown, the bathroom décor brought about the feel of the luxurious and lavish style: warm terracotta of walls, deep blue and patterned tiles above the double sink top, and large oval mirrors in brass frames. A blooming white orchid reminded me of my own flowers back at the Glass House. Good thing I’d watered the plant before leaving.

As I brushed my teeth, I studied my reflection. Having slept like the dead, Mrs. Northman looked and felt better, my skin fresh and my eyes bright again. The bleeding had almost stopped, which surprised me a bit because it was only my second day, but, my resolve firm in place about seeing a doctor, I stirred the thought away for now. At least, I didn’t have to worry anymore about an occasional fang catching a whiff of fae or the X-factor.

Eric had picked my skirt and shoes I’d left in a trail on the floor last night; he’d also hung our dressy clothes we’d brought in the travel garment bags in the closet in the bedroom. I looked at the skirt laid on the sleeping chair next to my blouse; I’d worn both only for an hour, and they were still fresh, if a little wrinkled.

Quickly, I pulled on the yellow knit dress. Of course, the belt was nowhere to be found. Eric would be amazed at the speed with which I hung the remaining clothes and filled a couple of dresser drawers with the rest of our things in an attempt to discover the missing accessory.

Eric’s pinstripe gray and my own black dress pants would need steaming, I thought as I fastened the metal snake inlaid with turquoise around my waist and slid on matching blue sandals with a modest heel.

I had my shields up; it was the knock on the door that alerted me of the food being delivered.

“Andy, with the room service!”

I let the young man in after scooping him for confirmation. Two eggs over easy, bacon, toast, fruit salad, coffee and a glass of orange juice; no tricks. He rolled the cart into the living room, and I fished some cash out of my purse for a tip.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Ms. Stackhouse?” he asked.

“Mrs. Northman, please, and… yes, actually, I have some clothes that need steaming and ironing.”

“I can take care of that, m’am,” he nodded.

Andy said our clothes would be ready before the sundown and someone would bring them over after six, which was fine since I should be back in the suite by then. He took the pants, a couple of shirts and my skirt and blouse with him. When I asked how much it would cost, he assured me the service was “on the house,” and so was my breakfast.

He left me puzzled. Pam had stressed before that sheriffs had a high rank at the royal court, but this seemed too good to be true. What was the deal with the attention and the complementary services?

I didn’t let the thought meddle with me enjoying my meal, though, especially with the hot coffee.

I put on some light makeup, going for a natural look, and dabbed just a drop of Turbulence behind my ears. With a sigh, I lowered the shields and let the chaos in. The mental wave crashed down on me, and I grabbed at the sink counter to steady myself. Once I cast the new anti-gambling barrier, the level of noise became tolerable again. I took deep breaths and listened, searching for any mentioning of Eric or me.

Someone was thinking my name. Human. Man. A security officer. He was wondering if he could get me to conference room D and prep me in ten minutes. There was that clear ring to his thoughts people usually have when they concentrate on some important task, banning every other secondary concern.

I locked the bathroom door from the bedroom side, then shut the double doors separating the living room from the bedroom. There was an additional electronic lock on these doors, and, according to the room service manual, once the guests set their own passcodes, no one could access the room from the outside. The entrance from the bathroom into the bedroom was secure, since the door knob from that side didn’t even have a lock, but I wasn’t all that sold on the reliability of the electronic one.

My career as an undercover spy required special creativity. I pulled a single hair and tied it in a loop around the door handles on the double doors. The thread of blond was practically invisible against the shiny gold of the metal and would tear at the attempt to open the doors.

If I could roll my eyes at myself, I would. I was acting ridiculously childish, but my little device made me feel better.

When Second Rank Security Officer Bruce Stanton arrived to escort me, I surprised him by being ready to roll right away. My punctuality earned me some brownie points, but I was a long way from Bruce liking me (not that I cared). On the positive side, he didn’t care about my breasts. I found it refreshing and indulged myself by scooping him as thoroughly as I could, since he chose not to engage into a social conversation or discuss our assignment in front of others. We passed a cleaning crew’s cart in the hallway, and immediately Bruce’s mind supplied me with the maintenance schedule: one round to clean bathrooms and other rooms if there were any, so that the undead guests would rise to a clean shower and fresh towels, and the second round after dark to change the sheets and tidy up the bedrooms. The employees were glamoured into restraining from entering the locked chambers under any circumstances. Should they find or hear anything suspicious, they were to report to the head of the security on the floor immediately. Walkie-talkies. Hmm. This meant the person in charge and those higher in the chain of command indeed had access to the bedrooms even if they were properly locked.

Each guest floor had a security team of three people, some of them humans, some were-animals. The night shifts were headed by a Were or a vampire officer.

It’s really amazing how human brain works. One thought is followed by another, and another, and that string pulls on images and associations attached to the main idea, like fish bones on the spine, only more complicated – sort of three-dimensional. Being in Bruce’s head wasn’t all that unpleasant, because he was in a strictly business mood. He could be a very useful source of reliable information, if it wasn’t for a fuzz of glamour that kept appearing on a periphery. Was that why he was able not to think about our mini task-force until we reached the sixth floor?

“The schedule is pretty packed,” he said, letting me through first, “But we’ll break for thirty at three, and of course, you can take a moment whenever you need. Today we’ll be speaking to the employees, fifteen-twenty minutes for each. Tomorrow – contractors and human business partners of Mr. de Castro.”

Geez Louise, did Bruce even know how my telepathic reading worked?

He continued: “Since I’m familiar with most of the staff, I’ll be conducting the interviews, and you will be screening each person in the process. You can ask your own questions, but if you find anything critical, let me know.” Rightonthenotepad.

I didn’t say anything to that. Bruce was vague on the details, and his careful approach raised a red flag.

The conference room was a perfect imitation of what I’d seen on TV many times – a long, polished to a perfect shine maple table and a dozen high-tech looking chairs. There was coffee, a fruit basket, and baked goodies on top of a matching credenza. I wished they had biscuits with patience and rolls of good faith.

Bruce pointed to one of the chairs and then sat next to me, unbuttoning the jacket and pulling the legs of his pants up a little so as not to stretch the navy blue material of his suit. The fabric of the sleeves was strained around his biceps, and the shirt collar was almost choking him. How was he still breathing? And managing to wear a tie, too?

“We’re being recorded,” he told me, squaring his beefy shoulders. “In the beginning of every interview I’ll state my name, the date and time, the person we’re going to speak to, then you’ll also verify your name for the record. For all intents and purposes, you are the new HR associate helping me with quarterly personnel reviews.”

I couldn’t understand the slight apprehension that had made its way into his thoughts.

“I don’t see a camera,” I said to trigger the associations in his mind.

“There’s one behind the mirror.”

“It’s one sided,” I glanced at a large mirror above the credenza.

“Yes. Later a transcript will be printed off the video for our employees to sign; this way we eliminate the need for a secretary to take notes.”

I suspected the other reason being to record me, for the vampire senior staff to check my work once they rose for the night. Would Felipe be one of the watchers? I didn’t find a confirmation in Bruce’s head; either he didn’t know or was glamoured to forget he ever did.

I felt like a rabbit in a lab. There wasn’t anything I could do about it, though, except for what I’d been “invited” here for – a job.

I poured myself a cup of coffee; Bruce politely refused when I offered him one and started the only computer in the room he thought of as a thin client. What, no paper files?

“Do you mind telling me what it is I’m supposed to be looking for?” I finally inquired.

“I’ll be asking each person a set of pre-selected questions. You need to determine if their answers are truthful.”

He was playing tight lips with me, but his behavior was corrupted with glamour. On top of his attitude, there was something his bosses didn’t want me to know about these interviews. Secretive, always secretive. What a surprise.

“Charlie, we’re ready in five,” Bruce said into his radio, typing something quickly, as I took my seat again. “Let’s begin. This is Bruce Stanton, Security Division, badge number H3847. Today is June eighteenth, 2011, twelve-o-six p.m. Conducting the first interview with Melanie Gordova, the executive day assistant to the head of maintenance of Block C., here with me…”

“Sookie Stackhouse Northman.”

Mrs. Gordova was a bit timid. I chalked it up to the weird questions. In laymen terms, the woman ran errands during the day for a vampire whose position could be best described as a glorified building super. She had a certain degree of fear of him, which was a healthy instinct, I’d think. Bruce grilled her for all ten minutes. Was the information on her application truthful? Had she ever had or was she currently involved in any kind of a relationship (define relationship!) with a vampire, aside from her working duties? How did she like working at Hacienda? Had she ever broken the protocol in any way?

I turned my attention to the man. Through slight fuzz, I heard some expensive supplies had gone bad, and the hotel had to get rid of a test shipment of high-end, hand made spa products among other things. A foul play was suspected: an employee/employees had dipped into the inventory and then tried to cover up by arranging a water leak to destroy what hadn’t been taken. The management believed Mrs. Gordova knew who’d done it or at least could lead them to the thieves.

Who was dumb enough to steal from vampires?

The poor woman was getting more and more shaky, and I was getting more and more frustrated. What the hell? Bruce’s voice was very calm and professional, but the impersonality of his conduct was scaring Mrs. Gordova even more. Her worry and panic of being terminated distorted the broadcast. In the back of my mind, I found it very strange that my services were required to solve the crime of murdered soaps. Then a four-digit number flashed in the woman’s mind: the losses and incurred damages had amounted to no less than thirty thousand dollars (Mrs. Gordova had been instrumental in assessing and reporting the figures to the bosses). I could admit this was a legitimate concern Felipe would want to spend my time on. But it was very possible that Melanie Gordova was set up as a test for me. Maybe, they’d already gotten the culprit, and she didn’t know. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

Fine, then.

Her hands were now trembling, and she hid them under the table. I got up, distracting Bruce for a moment, and went to the snack station to get her a glass of water.

“Here, Mrs. Gordova,” I handed her the glass and put my free hand on her shoulder in a friendly manner. Bruce went silent. Getthetelepathoutofbackwaterlouisiana… butyoucantgetthebarmaidoutofthetelepath. I glared at him, and he gulped.

By the time Mrs. Gordova was finished with her drink, she was calm enough to continue.

“Thank you,” she gave me a weak smile.

I kept my hand on her shoulder. She was a good person – as much as any person could be considered good – and, a few minor indiscretions aside, had no horrible skeletons in her closet. She did her work dutifully and had an excellent track record in meeting deadlines (no pun intended.)

“Mrs. Gordova, you’ve been very helpful today. This is just a quarterly performance review, that’s all. I understand you were the one who discovered the damaged supplies?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any ideas as of what might happened?”

“Well, hmm,” couldbeSunny… red short hair… stubborn chin… brown with gold uniform… damn soap… allergies… sneezeeverytimehepassesme… “A fire alarm must have gone off. I was going downstairs to get some samples for Mr. De Soto, and the storage room was like a huge fish tank.”

I thanked her and indicated to Bruce I had no more questions for her. Once the interview was over, she fled the conference room quicker than I could count to three.

“All right, Mr. Stanton. She has a very week suspicion based on almost nothing but a whiff of thin air. Quite literally.” I told Bruce what I’d found. His apprehension had grown to be the size of a large house, and I could finally see the reason: he despised that I was reading – violating – his mind, and he was powerless to stop me; yet he was here, working with me, bound by duty and ambition.

All I could think of was I hate vampire trickery! Always a test, always on my toes, even when the sun is up.

I took a sip of coffee, going over my options. If I were de Castro, I, too, would want to be sure that my telepath was reliable. He’d never witnessed my talent in action. He only had second hand reports and rumors about the extent of my ability.

Suddenly, I had a choice to make my gift seem less… precise. Would they leave me alone, then?

A moment of wishful thinking passed, but I was still irritated. Someone had taken time to glamour at least two people into going along with this idiotic game plan; at this point I wasn’t even sure if Mrs. Gordova hadn’t been sent to find the flooded storage room and to discover the larceny as part of the scheme. So much effort put into evaluating my telepathy made me wonder just how important of an asset the king expected I’d turn out to be.

My patience was also being tested on this fine day. I didn’t respond well to provocations, and unfortunately for Bruce he was going to be on the receiving end of my exasperation.

He was preparing to call the elusive Charlie again, when I spoke up: “Mr. Stanton, I understand you have protocol to follow, but nothing in your rules is adequate enough to deal with my telepathy. Now,” I put up my hand when he opened his mouth to argue, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

Shit.

Exactly my point.

“You can tell me what you’re reading on that computer screen of yours before each interview, like you did with Melanie Gordova. That’s how you learned she had some knowledge of the theft.” Because I’d been focused on the woman, I hadn’t registered anything from him at first, but now he was transmitting loudly, confirming my every suspicion. “I will ask my questions first, then you can go ahead with yours,” and aggravate these people all you want, I added in my mind.

He shook his head, “I’m sorry, but I cannot allow that.”

“Or,” I continued, ignoring his comment, “I will have to keep reading you and the interviewee at the same time. You know what will happen if I do that? It’ll take longer to get to the truth and I’ll have less details to report. Correct me if I’m wrong – you’re here to help me do my job, not the other way around. I don’t know what your superiors have instructed you to do, but I highly doubt they will appreciate you wasting my time. You’re making it very hard for me to work.”

If Bruce failed this task, he’d lose the promotion he’d been trying to get for months. The possibility of me reading something compromising in his mind and saying it aloud for the record bothered him even deeper.

“All right, Mrs. Northman. As you wish.”

“Thank you. Who do we have next?”

I knew I kind of bit Bruce’s head off and it wouldn’t look too good for him when the vampires watched the recording, but I stood my ground.

In a couple hours, we took a short break to grab a bite, and I let myself relax while eating my grilled chicken salad. Bruce had mellowed down a little, as I kept gathering very useful information from every person we’d spoken to after Mrs. Gordova. I visited the ladies room and popped two more Advils. I hadn’t used my telepathy so intensely for a very long time, and now I was getting a glimpse of what it would really be like to work for de Castro should he get a chance to snatch me from Eric. How long would I last?

“We’re a little behind the schedule,” Bruce said, preparing for the second round. His jacket was finally off, and he’d loosened his tie just enough to get a healthy dose of air into his lungs with every breath.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. I was already very tired, and I didn’t want to be stuck here until sundown. I reached into the bond to feel the Viking humming steadily.

“Are there any questions you can eliminate?” I asked.

“I’ll try.”

He really did. We were finished just a few minutes past six.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at the same time,” Bruce said. He’d escorted me back to the suite and was waiting for me to get inside.

“Sure. Thanks for cutting it short. It’s getting harder to read people when I’m tired,” I confessed. Tomorrow was going to be another long, hard day, and I thought Bruce should know about this limitation of mine. After all, we were in the same boat.

“I understand. I’ll see if I can change a few things on the schedule, push more important interviews up, leave the easier stuff for later.”

I nodded, “Good idea.”

I had an hour before Eric would rise. I checked the doors – no one had entered the bedroom while I’d been away. Maybe, I was overreacting. Then I shrugged it off. No one needed to know how worried I was leaving Eric alone. On the positive side, the interviews had been more productive in ways I hadn’t anticipated. The day hadn’t been spent completely in vain.

My shields were up. With a major headache nestled in my body’s penthouse, I was dying for a shower and a nap snuggled in bed with my vampire. Our clothes were delivered as I was about to undress – perfect timing, since I’d completely forgotten about the arrangement I’d made with Andy.

Eric was asleep in the same position I’d left him in. Clean and naked, I crawled under the covers and wiggled my way into his embrace, lifting the heavy arm and draping in over myself. I twined my fingers through his and brought his hand to my lips for a kiss. The void of his mind and the warmth of the bond enveloped me, and I was out.

Annotation

[Next Chapter →](https://alphafang.wordpress.com/svm-fanfic/die-tonight-rule-tomorrow/dtrt-ch-2-unconventional-methods/)


End file.
